


the sad and selfish (stay helpless)

by snitches_get_stitches



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Bruises, Butt Plugs, Choking, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, finger-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitches_get_stitches/pseuds/snitches_get_stitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick doesn't know how he gets himself into these types of situations</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sad and selfish (stay helpless)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a horrible human being. :/
> 
> some hardcore stuff below, guys, so be wary. for those of you the like this kind of stuff, well, i hope you enjoy.
> 
> i don't own fall out boy or their members blah blah creative rights

Patrick doesn't know how he gets himself into these types of situations.

Being bent over the coffee table hurts--the edge is digging into his hips painfully, no doubt painting a sharp line of bruises across his hips. His thighs ache from being spread, climbing rope secured around the legs of the table and tied just above his knees, spreading them as far as they would go. His arms ache from being tied behind his back for too long, and his right cheekbone is beginning to sting from the way it's being pressed hard into the wood, a warm hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

"Fuck, Patrick," he hears Pete hiss, his breath brushing against the shell of Patrick's ears. "You look so hot like this, all spread out for me, you don't even know." He feels Pete's hand drag away from the back of his neck, slowly make its way down every bump of his spine until it reaches his ass. Pete gropes him for a moment, fingernails digging into the soft of Patrick's skin, before he slaps him hard. Patrick jerks, grunting into the wood, dick jumping.

"Fuck. You're such a good little slut, you know that? Letting me bend you over this morning, fill you up with that plug, and then not touching it all day. Fuck, you're so good for me, so ready."

Patrick remembers, remembers being bent over on the floor of the bedroom forcefully, remembers Pete pushing in the toy until it was pressing hard against his prostate, the base of the plug holding him open. He remembers having to sit through it all day, fingers clenching, trying to ignore the way his cock always seemed to be chafing against the denim of his jean. There had been times where he couldn't stand to sit, afraid he'd spontaneously have an orgasm, right there on the couch, afraid Pete would punish him.

He has different concerns now, with the way Pete is tracing where the plug holds him open, an entirely different kind of torture. Patrick whimpers, fingers clenching.

Suddenly, Pete grasps the toy and yanks it out, and Patrick yelps, overwhelmed, before Pete is shoving it back in. He begins working it in and out, roughly, and Patrick has to work to hold back his screams, the toy brushing his prostate on nearly every stroke.

"Fuck,  _fuck_ ," he hisses, squirming. "Pete, oh god, Pete, please."

Pete doesn't let up, still working the toy in and out of Patrick without pausing. "Please what, slut? What do you want?"

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut, nearly drooling on the table. "T-touch me, please, I need it, I need to get off--"

"Oh, I don't think so." Pete stops, yanks Patrick's hips back against his own instead, cock hot and heavy against the back of Patrick's thigh. "I think you're going to come when I tell you that you can come, and  _only_ then, understand?"

Patrick shudders, nods.

Pete drags out the toy one last time, the widest part stretching Patrick open, open, and then it's out, thrown carelessly on the carpet. Pete presses himself against Patrick, hips to ass, chest to back, dick nudging between Patrick's cheeks. Patrick feels empty without the plug now, entrance stretched and gaping, cold in the cool air of the apartment.

That's quickly solved when Pete shoves three fingers in and crooks them  _just_  right, and Patrick sobs, jerking. "You have no idea how good you look, Patrick," Pete growls, voice low and gravelly. "Hole all stretched out for me, thighs spread and shaking, cock untouched and leaking. I just wanna eat you up."

Pete's true to his word, because a moment later, he tugs his fingers out and pulls back until he's eye level with the blonde's quivering entrance, red and inflamed and slick with lube. When he leans forward and licks a quick stripe over his entrance, the younger jerks and cries out, sensitive.

It's almost too much--the older licking wetly around his hole, thrusting into his entrance with his tongue, further wetting the skin there. His hands are gripping tightly at Patrick's hips, leaving half-moons cuts where his fingernails break skin. Patrick can feel where his lips are sealed around his entrance, every twitch and lick of his tongue inside of him, and he's going to  _come_  from this, he really is.

"P-Pete!" he manages to squeak out. "I--please, I can't, I'm gonna--"

Pete pulls away then, gasping, and Patrick relaxes. As much as he can, anyway, tied to a table with a hard cock.

"You ready?" Pete asks. Patrick really, really, isn't, but he nods anyway, because fuck, he needs this.

Even stretched from the plug, the feel of Pete's cock pressing into him is overwhelming, too big, too hot, too hard, too much. But there's literally nothing he can do about it, and soon Pete is thrusting into him, one hand over where Patrick's own are tied together, the other reaching up to fist in Patrick's hair.

It hurts when he yanks his head back, arches his spine and presses his ribs too hard against the tabletop, but Patrick still moans, Pete's cock thrusting so deep inside him. He feels like he's being torn apart, the feeling is so overwhelming, and there's nothing he can do but whimper when he feels his orgasm draw close, the tingling in the base of his spine familiar.

Pete must sense it too, though, because he suddenly stops, buried inside Patrick, and it's so infuriating Patrick actually sobs, tears escaping from his eyes.

"What did I fucking say about coming?" Pete demands, tugging harshly at his hair, and shit, shit, he sounds angry.

"You--" a pause for breath, a restrained sob, "You said that I can only c-come when you say I c-can." Oh god,  _god_ , he was so close, please.

"And did I say you could?"

"N-no," he gasps out, barely a whisper.

Suddenly his head is being forced down onto the wood and Pete pulls out, shuffles until he's on the other side of the table. He kneels so that his cock is in front of Patrick, just barely brushing his lips. "Suck it," he orders, and Patrick does.

It's disgusting and degrading after the ass-fucking Pete has just given him, but he does it as vigorously as he can, wanting to please Pete so he could finally, finally let Patrick come. Only, the moments he sucks the head into his mouth, Pete is gripping his hair and pushing him all the way down his cock, the head pushing into his throat. His gag reflex kicks in and Patrick jerks back harshly, throat working desperately around Pete's cock for air, but Pete only pulls him back in and holds him there.

His eyes water and he makes a pained noise around Pete's dick, peering up at him through the pain, and it's only then Pete pulls him back off his cock. Patrick coughs harshly, saliva mixed with precome dribbling from his lips, cheeks flushed and tear-stained. He has zero time to recover before Pete is coming on his face in thick spurts, coating his noise and cheeks and adding to the mess he's still coughing out of his mouth.

He feels miserable and touch-starved, hard cock pressing against the underside of the table, legs still spread and face covered in fluids. Panic seizes in his chest when Pete reaches for his phone, aims it at him and the flash goes off, blinding Patrick in addition to being physically restrained. "Pete--?"

"It's for personal enjoyment," he cuts in, and then he's leaving Patrick's line of sight, shuffling back behind him.

Patrick hardly has the energy to groan when Pete thrusts three fingers into his entrance again, but he does, pressing one come-covered cheek to the table and ignoring the gross factor as best he can. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter when the camera flash goes off again, and hopes to god no one but Pete will ever lay eyes on these photos.

"Do you want to come now?"

And Patrick wants to  _scream_ , because  _yes_ , he wants to come, he's been wanting to come since Pete first pressed the plug inside of him that morning. But he just suppresses a sob and nods, every part of his body aching for release. "Please," he whispers.

And finally,  _finally_ , Pete reaches around Patrick and grips his cock, curls his fingers inside him, and that's it, his orgasm hits  _hard._ Patrick's comes hard against the underside of the table, whimpering high and load in his throat as he writhes on the table top, his climax so overwhelming his vision actually clouds over and he collapses onto the wood.

He doesn't realize he actually passed out until he wakes up mere moments later, Pete untying the ropes around his knees before releasing his wrists from behind his back. Patrick barely moves, just grunts out an inaudible noise, Pete's come beginning to dry on his face. "C'mon, baby," he hears, and then he's being scooped up in Pete's arms.

x

When he wakes up the next morning in Pete's bed, there's dried come still on his face and bruises ringed around his wrists and thighs, smaller ones blooming where his hips were pressed into the edge of the table. The muscles in his thighs are screaming, and he feels loose and used and humiliated, but when he rolls over and sees Pete sleeping soundly, he thinks it might have been worth it.

 

 


End file.
